Monster Hunter Vendetta

by Larry Correia

  There was a scraping noise behind me, claws on rock. I spun, but couldn't see anything. Stupid werewolf's stalking me. Well, let him come. One of us would be faster than the other. It was that simple. I ran after the cultists. This tunnel was trending upward, but we seemed to be circling back toward where I had left Grant. I was so lost.

  Scritch.

  I spun on the ball of my foot, gun punching out. A black shape barreled toward me, eyes glowing like green balls of fire, saliva flying from rows of teeth. I fired.

  We collided, slamming me painfully down. There was a flash of heat and fur rubbed across my face. I rolled over, gun tucked in tight against my body. My goggles had been knocked askew. I couldn't see anything. Something moved before me. There was a tearing of wind, and claws ripped four lines through my shirt. I opened fire.

  A shriek of pain. I'd got him! The last shots in my pistol were gone in a split second, my slide locked back empty. I automatically dropped the mag and jerked another one from my belt, slamming it home and chambering a round. Claws scratched and I cranked off ten more shots in that direction, as fast as I could pull the trigger, muzzle blast creating a strobe effect as the shape rolled away from me.

  It was quiet except for my breathing. Adrenaline was pounding through my system. I reached up with my shaking left hand and jerked the goggles back into place.

  Agent Franks towered over me. I jumped. He had the suppressed HK in one hand. The werewolf was curled into a fetal position between us, a bristling mass of hair and muscle. Air hissed from its perforated lung. I'd nailed the werewolf repeatedly. Franks raised the pistol and put a final round through the creature's skull, splattering the tunnel floor. Franks nodded. "You got him . . ." Then he pointed at his abdomen. "And me."

  It was hard to tell through the night-vision, but there was a leaking hole low in his side. I'd shot Franks! "Oh, man, are you okay?"

  He appeared to think about it as he stuck one finger in the entrance wound, not feeling any pain. "Bullet struck my pelvis below my vest. Glanced upward . . . ​Hmmm, hit a kidney. You owe me a new one. Come on." He turned and stalked after the cultists.

  Now that was tough, even by Monster Hunter standards.

  "I'm sorry!" I exclaimed as I stepped over the dead werewolf. I'd never shot anybody by accident before. It was humiliating. Even if it was a pretty intense situation, I was still supposed to be the master of this stuff. I shoved my final magazine into the smoking STI and followed Franks.

  Twenty feet of tunnel later, there was a chattering of submachine-gun fire. I pressed myself against the carved stone, but it wasn't directed at us. It was coming from just ahead. Franks surged forward. I followed. Grant was kneeling at the corner, metal Uzi stock at his shoulder, firing blindly down the hall. He must have stumbled around totally in the dark until he had heard the cultists. There was a ladder leading up into the night. There was one body at the base, and another one dangling with an arm trapped through the rungs. Way to go, Grant.

  Somebody stuck an arm down the hole and muzzle flashes sparked as they shot at us. Franks extended the HK and fired. There was a scream of a pain and a clatter as the man dropped his gun down the hole. Franks hit the ladder and began to climb. He jerked the dead cultist off and let him drop. "Grant, follow us. We're heading up!" I shouted.

  "I'm blind, idiot!" he responded.

  "Head toward the gunfire," I suggested as I started climbing. Franks was nearing the top. There was a sudden boom as something detonated above him. He fell a couple of rungs, and I cringed, waiting for him to land on me, but he caught himself with a grunt. The cultists had grenades. Franks growled in frustration, blood falling from him and splattering my upturned face as he shoved himself up and through the hole.

  I was out a second later, a cloud of dust and smoke still hanging in the air from the explosion. I tore off the goggles. The sun had just gone down, but it was brilliantly bright compared to the stifling tunnels. Franks was already moving, firing the suppressed pistol through the swirling dust. It ran dry, and he dropped it, automatically drawing a Glock. I couldn't see what he was shooting at, but I took off after him.

  It took me a moment to orient myself as the dust cleared. We were at the north corner of the barracks. I ran, subconsciously crouching over as bullets crashed through the dirt at my feet. Somebody was shooting at me! I hugged the wall behind Franks, safely around the corner. I'd never actually been in a gunfight before. It was certainly different than fighting monsters!

  Franks nodded at me. "Five left."

  I was gasping for breath. I glanced down at my gun. "I'm down to my last ten rounds."

  "So shoot each one twice," Franks replied. He reached down and checked his side. Blood was drizzling out from under his suit and soaking his pant leg. "I've got to stop this."

  "Sorry," I stammered. I had often dreamed of shooting Franks, just never by accident. He had lost his sunglasses and in that brief lull I noticed something strange under the lights of the barracks. His eyes had changed. They had always been dark, almost black, and one still was, but the other was light blue.

  Franks caught me staring and turned his head away. He pointed at the door the cultists had entered. "They're covering that entry. Is there another way in?"

  It took my brain a second to process the request. There were windows, and they slid open, but like everything at the compound, they were barred. I had lived in the barracks while I had undergone my Newbie training. Yeah, there was an entrance on both sides, and one in the middle to the rec room. I found myself nodding.

  "Flank them," Franks ordered.

  I didn't know at what point in time he had become in charge, but I had never actually fought human beings to the death before, so it seemed like a reasonable request. I moved quickly down the wall, but just as I did so, a massive fireball rose from the main building, highlighting strange, disjointed shadows scaling the walls. The undead were here. We were under siege.

  The barracks was a very basic building. It was a prefab, shaped like a big H, with a row of sleeping quarters down both sides along a hallway, showers on the end, and the recreation room in the center. I paused outside the side door.

  This was nuts. I shouldn't have been scared. I'd risked my life dozens of times now, but facing people was different. Well, they had at least one werewolf, so I guess I couldn't assume the rest of the cultists were human either. I had killed a man but I didn't really know if the reborn Machado counted. I checked my gun and took a deep breath. Screw it. Monster, human, whatever, put a bullet in the right place, and they all go down the same. People are just softer. The knob was cool under my hand as I pulled the door open.

  Nothing moved in the hallway.

  I moved slowly, setting each boot down carefully so as not to make too much noise. The doors to the Newbies' rooms were all open, everyone having cleaned out their stuff in preparation for getting the heck out of here. Luggage was stacked by each door. The walls had once been boring beige, but just about every inch had been covered by tacked-up posters, pictures, notes, Sharpie autographs, or even graffiti from years of new Hunters.

  There was a noise—a crash as something fell over. There was movement in the room to the side. I raised my compact STI and covered the doorway.

  A man stepped out, dressed entirely in black, wearing a balaclava and a pair of night-vision goggles pushed up on his forehead. He had the butt of an MP5 against his shoulder, muzzle down, as he swept into the hallway. They were clearing the building, probably getting ready to hole up and defend this place until the Condition secured the compound.

  His eyes widened as he saw me five feet away, but it was too late to matter. The bullet passed cleanly through the cultist's face and he dropped in a spray of blood droplets.

  "Contact!" someone screamed from the rec room. I leapt over the cultist's body and into the room he had just exited. Someone took the opportunity to fill the hallway with lead, emptying a magazine in a rapid buzz. Projectiles flew through the walls as I flung myself facedown o
n the carpet. I rolled over and covered the doorway.

  The gunfire stopped. I got to my knees and took the corner. Another black-clad cultist was crouched just inside the rec room. He was fumbling, trying to shove a magazine into his subgun. He was mostly hidden, but prefab walls are thin. Since I couldn't see his head and he was probably wearing armor anyway, I aimed low, and cranked off four rounds through the wall.

  He bellowed in surprise and fell out of sight. I got up and moved to the back of the room. Sure enough, another cultist responded, tearing the space that I had been inhabiting into splinters. The bars of the window collided with my back. Terrible noises reverberated through the glass, audible even over the gunfire and the angry shouting of the injured cultist. An epic battle was being waged outside.

  It was with some shock that I realized that this was my old room. Right there on the wall was my own autograph. ozp: combat accountant. I had been sitting on that bed right there when Trip had talked me out of giving up and quitting after I'd injured Green in training. My autograph disappeared as a bullet plowed through it. I hit the deck. These were high-powered rifle rounds, and they were zipping right through the walls like they were made of paper.

  "Hold your fire!"

  "I'll hold mine if you hold yours!" I shouted back.

  It was a woman's voice, coming from the rec room. "I know that smell. We're supposed to take that one alive."

  Great, another werewolf. "No, wrong guess," I replied as I crawled across the floor of the tiny room. There had been a mirror on the wall. I was lying in broken glass. Hands trembling, I picked up a giant shard and angled it so I could see down the hallway. It was clear.

  "Yes, it is Pitt. The Master retrieved some of your clothing when you escaped from him in Mexico. I know your scent well, Hunter."

  "How many werewolves does your boss have anyway?" There was someone moving just inside the rec room, but I didn't think it was the speaker.

  It took her a moment to respond to me. She was busy whispering orders to the remaining cultists. Where was Franks? I really could use a hand right now. But he was probably passed out from blood loss because I'd shot him in the kidney. The woman shouted back at me. "Just me and my mate, and since he's not rejoined us, I can only assume he's dead."

  "Yep, I murdered the shit out of him."

  She was quiet for a long time. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with fury. "Then that was a mistake. Kill him."

  One of the other cultists piped in. "But the master said—"

  "I said kill him!" the werewolf shrieked.

  The reflection in the broken mirror revealed the cultist poking his head around the corner, barrel of a rifle just below. I threw myself into the hallway, front sight snapping into place instantaneously. I stroked the perfectly polished trigger to the rear, launching a 230-grain silver bullet, striking him in the throat. He didn't go down, so I shot him again, and again. He flopped backward in a heap, combat boots kicking stupidly into the air. I scrambled back into my old room before somebody else could jump out to shoot me.

  There was more shooting from the rec room. Franks must be making his move. I got ready to charge. If I could hit the hall while they were distracted, I could pop the last few and get our ward back. I'd lost count, but I had a few shots left. Then I realized I was covered in blood, and with a panic began to look for holes. Wait. It's not mine. . . . ​Awesome. I moved for the hall.

  But the werewolf had come to me.

  We almost collided. She was a short woman, appearing physically young, but with unnatural silver hair and eyes that were glowing an angry gold. I jerked my gun up, but her hand slammed into my forearm, blocking the shot. It was like getting hit with a pipe. The STI dropped from tingling fingertips. She moved insanely fast even in human form. A punch landed against my ribs, slamming hot pain through my entire body. She wrapped petite hands around my throat and crashed me into one side of the hallway, smashing me through boards and drywall, only to jerk me out, and sling me around into the other wall. She tossed me headfirst toward the rec room. "He was a good man!" she screamed in my ear. "A good man!"

  I came off the floor. I was pissed. "Now he's a dead man, bitch." I slugged her in the face, my massive fist curling tight at the last possible instant. It was the kind of hit that I had used to knock gigantic brutes into unconsciousness. Her head snapped around, silver hair flying.

  My hand stung from the impact. But she didn't go down. When she looked back, silver hair parted, revealing a mouth that was now full of impossible incisors. She snarled as she swiped her open hand at me. Fire lanced across my chest as her lengthening fingernails tore through my skin. I leapt back, more of the wild swings tearing at me. I was too slow, and she raked lines of blood down my left cheek.

  Rage washed over me then and it was on. I caught her by the wrist and pulled her forward. I jerked my knee up and hit her in the stomach. She slashed me again in the side, but fury cleansed the pain. With her bent over, I grabbed the back of her head and shoved down as I brought my knee into her face. Some of those sharp teeth shattered as I hit her again. I was on her, launching a flurry of attacks, meaty blows hammering into her like I was beating a hundred-pound punching bag. She flailed back and I straight kicked her in the chest. Supernatural powers aside, I was three times her size and weight, and physics beats magic. The werewolf flew down the hall.

  But she landed on her hands and knees, her head flying right back up. "Is that the best you got?" she snarled with an inhuman voice as bones crackled and twisted. She ripped open her tac vest with claws that were now long enough to eviscerate. Silver hair was growing from her skin. She screamed as her teeth extended past her tearing lips.

  "Yeah, it was." I spun and ran for the rec room. I didn't know where my gun was and I could only pray that the cultists I had shot had silver bullets loaded, too. The werewolf shrieked and jerked as she continued her transformation.

  I hadn't really thought about what to do with the remaining cultists though. . . . ​

  Two were covering the other entrance, shooting at something that I assumed was Franks. One of the men I had hit was lying flat on his back, dead. The other one was leaning against the pool table, trying to stop the bleeding from his legs, and judging from the puddle, he was losing badly. None of them saw me enter.

  The dead one had an AK-47 next to him. Even if it wasn't loaded with silver, 7.62x39 ought to tear some serious holes in a werewolf. I reached down—

  But the werewolf intercepted me first. My feet flew out from under me as she collided with the backs of my knees. I landed on my back. The injured cultist cried out when he saw her, still more human than beast, but distorting rapidly. Distracted by the noise and driven into a frenzy, she leapt on her associate and lit into him with unbelievable ferocity. Blood and entrails sprayed across the pool table. The two others guarding the door turned to see what was going on, and lurched upright in fear.

  "Claudia, no!" cried one of them. This was the kind of fury that Earl had warned me about. Her face had extended into bloody jaws. Golden predator eyes locked on them and lurched forward.

  Both of the cultists jerked as projectiles ripped into them through the doorway. Franks had used the lull to his advantage. The werewolf leapt on top of the nearest and sunk her teeth into his throat, taking them both down in a jumble of arterial spray. They crashed into the 56" flat-screen and tore it from the wall.

  I slipped in the warm blood, trying to find traction to rise. The werewolf looked up from her victim, the part of her mind capable of rational thought surely remembering that I was the one who had killed her boyfriend. I slid toward the pool table, latched onto a handful of felt and pulled myself up. Grabbing one of the solid balls off the table, I cocked my arm back and launched it at her. It hit her in the snout. She yelped, and I immediately chucked another pool ball. This time I missed.

  She slunk forward. I grabbed the only other weapon that was in reach, a pool cue. It looked so skinny and feeble, but it beat harsh language. I raised
it overhead and brought it down with a bellow. It snapped in half.

  The werewolf was not amused. She stood upright, and now with her warping bones, she was my height, but gangly and misshapen. I held out the broken haft, ready to stab. Frothy bubbles blew from her nostrils as she backed me into the corner. Her silver mane was streaked with red. She closed in, instinct demanding to rip me to bits.

  "Bad werewolf," Franks said from the entrance. "Sit."

  The werewolf swung her head to assess the interloper. I slammed the jagged end of the pool cue into her throat. It was like a blood explosion. She howled in sudden agony, claws flying to the wound. Franks raised his Glock and calmly put a single round of silver 10mm through her brain, ending the scream forever. She collapsed.

  "Stay. . . ." Franks walked up, assessed the body, then fired two more rounds into the corpse, just to be sure. "Good werewolf."

  I was out of breath and covered in dripping blood. "Was that your idea of a joke?" He cocked his head to the side, inscrutable as ever. "Never mind. What took you so long?"

  Grant answered that. He came running into the room, smoking Uzi in hand. "Help me barricade the door!"

  "From what?" I asked.

  Something gigantic roared outside. "That! Hurry!"

  Franks got on one end of the pool table that had to weigh a ton, lifted it with a grunt and started dragging it across the floor. I threw my shoulder into the other side and shoved. Muscles straining, we got it next to the door, moved to one side, heaved, and tipped it over with a crash. We shoved it against the entrance.

  The table shook as the giant beast collided with the doorway. The impact shook me to the bone. "What is that?" I shouted.